


Taedium Vitae

by chasing_the_sterek



Series: Inktober 2017 [23]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Arguments, Bored John, Boredom, Crack Treated Seriously, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Sherlock Holmes Experiments on John Watson, Sherlock Holmes and Experiments, Very seriously, and i like it just enough to not want to change it, cases, i wrote this after several cups of strong coffee whilst tired, i'm so sorry lmao, so now you're all stuck with this, specifically on his patience, well it's more of a small tiff but nobody's going to search for that tag now are they
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 14:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13460373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasing_the_sterek/pseuds/chasing_the_sterek
Summary: Nothing to do.Nothing to do, in the world, at all.How is that possible?He briefly contemplates making tea, but he really can't be arsed.///Sherlock can't go over three weeks without a case. But what about John?Sherlock decides it's a great idea to test just that.





	Taedium Vitae

**Author's Note:**

> Not-today's prompt was "hidden/comfort". No idea how I got this out of it. I'm so sorry
> 
> This was meant to be at least semi-serious. . .
> 
>  
> 
> (i am proud of that title though)

Nothing to do. 

Nothing to do, in the world, at all. 

How is that possible? 

He briefly contemplates making tea, but he's comfortable here on the sofa, upside-down though he may be, and he can't be arsed. 

John eyes his phone where it lies on the coffee table, next to his head. Surely Sherlock will have some kind of remedy for this crushing ennui? He could text. . . though this is Sherlock's fault in the first place, so honestly he's not hugely enthusiastic about the prospect. 

Weighing up the pros and cons of contacting Sherlock to alleviate Sherlock-induced boredom at least eats up five minutes, and then, before he has to make a decision and go back to a lifetime of grey - 

There. 

A quiet swing of hinges, the muffled taps of the off-kilter doorknocker. Footsteps, fast, on the stairs. A barely-audible swish of a dramatic coat. 

"Hello, Sherlock," John drones, just as the detective is about to set his foot in the door. 

He can feel Sherlock looking at him. There's a pause, and then a slightly incredulous huff of laughter. More footsteps, and then Sherlock's face appears above him, looking vastly amused. 

"Isn't all the blood going to your head?" 

John glares at him. "You've been cutting me off cases," he accuses. 

Sherlock doesn't even look surprised, the bastard, just keeps on smiling widely like this is the most entertaining thing he's seen in eons. 

"What makes you say that?" Sherlock asks casually. 

John rolls his eyes wholeheartedly. "Don't be _dense,"_ he groans. 

The words are rich in his mouth, infused with the force of his exasperation and frustration and boredom and low, simmering anger, and he doesn't quite realise how similar it is to Sherlock's usual bored vitriol after it's out of his mouth and Sherlock's wide smile has twitched itself into a huge, unabashedly entertained grin. 

Usually, John would probably smile back. This time, though, he just takes a moment to glare harder. 

"I _say that,"_ John emphasizes, going back to the issue at hand, "because you _are,_ you absolute cretin. I haven't had a case in a month - _two months!_ \- during which time I have had only _nine_ shifts at the surgery and therefore _nothing else with which to fill my time -"_

"You're dramatic when you're bored," Sherlock observes. 

John resists the urge to snarl at him and sits up. Some of his anger drains away with the blood leaving his head, and when he speaks next his tone is a little calmer. "Where have you been for two days, anyway? What was the case?" 

"Stabbing," Sherlock says, apparently not bothering to deny it. He turns to hang his coat up. 

"More than just a stabbing," John corrects, eyes flicking over the clues presented to him - amongst them, the still-present dilation of Sherlock's pupils, the splatters of mud and water (separate) on his shoes. "A chase. He tried to kill again?" 

Sherlock blinks at him from the doorway. "Ah - yes," he says, obviously a little wrongfooted. "A chase through Regent's Park." 

That explains the mud, and - now that John thinks about it - the lack of a cab. 

(At a stretch, John would say that the chase had overrun the park by some distance, if only because of the water that was splattered next to the mud instead of with it; but he was probably wrong, so he doesn't mention it.) 

He tries to say "Ah," like he isn't bitterly disappointed at the lack of an opportunity to end his month-long absence of cases with an exciting chase. 

Sherlock looks like he wants to laugh, though, so he probably failed. Oh well. He should have never hoped to hide something from the most observant man in England. 

"So the case is wrapped up, then," John sighs. "You wouldn't happen to have anything else lined up immediately, would you?" 

"Not unless your boredom has driven you to indulge in your previously unseen murderous tendencies." 

John scowls. "Don't tempt me." 

Sherlock trails after him into the kitchen. "You've been hiding it well." 

"Hiding what? The crushing darkness of eternal boredom? The horrible epiphany that a lifetime of grey is stretching itself out ahead of you?" 

"I amend my earlier statement," Sherlock says. _"Very_ dramatic when bored. I think you're worse than me." 

"I can't be worse than you. It's wholly impossible for me to be worse than you. Nobody is worse than you," John lists, monotone. "You make boredom into an art form." 

"Believe me, you're managing it quite well yourself," Sherlock says dryly. 

John points a finger at him. "You are not allowed to speak. You are a terrible human being." 

Sherlock looks insultingly amused. "Did you try -" 

"If you say Bond films, I will murder you," John promises darkly. "Right here. With no regrets." 

"John -" 

"No." 

"But -" 

"Nope." 

Sherlock opens his mouth. John attempts to glare him into submission. 

Sherlock goes for it. Bastard. "John, you can't -" 

"I don't care what you're going to say, I'll probably find that I can." 

"Only probably?" 

"Shut up."


End file.
